Takeoff
by Jim Handy
Summary: X-men First Class. Jean and Warren have a surprisingly deep conversation on a lazy summer day.


All recognizable characters belong to Marvel Comcics.

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"I am not disagreeing because I'm too stubborn," Jean told him in measured tones. "I'm disagreeing with you because you're an idiot. And because you're wrong. Again."

They were hanging out on the mansion roof, talking about this and that and nothing in particular. This particular spot was one Warren had found during his first week at the mansion, when he'd been searching the place high and low for good take off and landing points. It was particularly useful for hiding away from one's cares and worries, so when Jean had mentioned she wanted someplace where no one would find them he'd obligingly carried her there. It was one of those rare summer days when the team didn't have training or a mission, the professor was preoccupied with the thousands of details keeping his Dream alive required and couldn't spare the time to hassle them, and the rest of the assorted crazies they shared their lives with were busy with other things. He'd suggested they take advantage of this and spend some quality time on the roof.

Warren never considered Jean one of the crazy ones, which was ironic when you thought about it. Which Warren always did his best not to. He found that his life went easier that way. Granted, it sometimes got him into trouble with the Professor, but he held the belief that his fellow students were sometimes just a tad bit too concerned with Charles Xavier's opinion of them.

"You know I'm right." He was sprawled out on his back, his wings fanning out for yards to either side, his hands behind his head. "Sure, he puts on the whole serious and mature act, but deep down inside the Professor feels the same urges as the rest of us – abuse these awesome mutant powers for all they're worth. Plus, the no legs thing, which has to make him want to experiment in ways he'd rather not talk about."

His eyes were closed against the summer sun, so he had to imagine Jean's eye roll and the annoyed way she tossed her hair. "Whatever you say, Wings. Although I still think you should be the one to ask Professor Xavier how many times he's mentally spied on people having sex."

"You," Warren declared sadly, "have no sense of adventure."

"No, I have a sense of self – preservation. You may have heard of it; it keeps us mere mortals who can't fly away from their troubles alive." He thought he heard a note of tension in her voice underlying the humor. "War? Can I ask you a serious question?"

He snorted. "We were having a serious discussion. Your lack of curiosity about our esteemed headmaster's sex life is a sad thing indeed, Red."

Jean laughed. "You have a strange definition of serious. Of course, you live here. So I guess weirdness is kind of a requirement." She fell silent, and Warren frowned. "I guess the whole weirdness thing is part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Look at how we live now. Most kids our age would be going out to the mall on the weekend, or going to clubs, or getting ready for college or whatever. We get ready to throw down with giant apes and space aliens."

"You forgot the insane mythological creatures," Warren added helpfully. "Their feelings would be so hurt." The expected telekinetic whap only made him grin.

She continued after a pause. "Would you prefer not to have any kind of powers at all? Would you prefer it if you were just an ordinary rich kid going to prep school and getting ready to inherit your dad's business? Because sometimes I honestly think these powers, these gifts if you believe what the Professor tells us, are all more trouble than they're worth."

"So you wish you were back where you used to be? Living a normal life, doing normal things, with the rest of us not there?" Warren flattered himself that he could control his voice fairly well, but even he could tell that there were traces of resentment in his question.

She sighed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it." He heard her get to her feet and start pacing back and forth. "I've told you guys most of what happened when – when I was twelve." Warren nodded slowly. "That was bad. I mean really bad. I mean – never mind. It's not something I can put into words." He imagined her shaking her head, her fiery hair glinting in the sunlight. "But when the Professor taught me how to keep the voices out of my head and brought me here, I thought the weirdness was over. I expected my life would get simpler, not more complicated. Then he started talking to us about how our great powers give us great responsibility, and I nodded along and thought he was just giving us some extra ethics lessons. And then there were the uniforms. And the training. And then we went out on our first mission, and I realized that things were going to be weird. Not that they weren't weird before. You know what I mean." Warren nodded; he wondered in the back of his mind if he was going to keep doing that for the rest of this conversation. "So I started wondering if maybe I'd made the wrong choice."

"We are doing good things, you know." Warren wasn't the Professor's biggest fan, but even he could see the logic behind what he was doing at the school. "Mutants have just started getting public attention. People are going to be nervous about the possibility of their children and friends and neighbors suddenly shooting death beams out of their noses, or whatever. So we do have to get out there and show them that mutants can use their powers for good, not just personal gain. It might not seem like it, but I think we really are making an impact in our own absurd, terribly dressed way."

She snorted. "You're such an optimist. Do you really think what we do will change the way anyone thinks? No matter how hard we keep at it? No matter what the risks we take?" She fell silent again, and Warren shifted uncomfortably. The roof was hot, and the sun a dull red against his eyelids, but the bitterness in Jean's tone and silences were even more unsettling.

He opened his mouth to say something, but realized there was nothing to say. Phrases like 'We need you' and 'You complete the team' and 'Scott would be devastated' rattled around in his mind, and he couldn't find the words for any of them no matter how true they were. Finally he settled on a feeble "This isn't like you," and realized even as he said it how lame it sounded.

"Oh, so now I'm supposed to be the team cheerleader? Just because I'm the token girl I have to be the one to tell you boys that 'Gee golly, things might be hard, but it'll all turn out all right!'?" The words were bitter, but she sounded like she was smiling underneath it. Maybe he had managed to say the right thing after all. Stranger things had happened. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we can change the world if we keep at this long enough." He was just starting to smile when she added slyly "Or maybe we'll all go insane and join Magneto."

Warren's eyes snapped open and he stared at her in shock. "All right, you said that just to – "He paused. There she was, sitting not four feet from him with a smile like a cat next to an empty canary cage. And she was floating four inches off the roof.

"Surprise!" she said with a bubbling laugh, and despite himself Warren couldn't help but laugh along. "I just figured this flying thing out, and it's more a directed floating at this point and I had to show it off to Scott first - but I figured if anyone would appreciate it, you would." Warren was caught off guard for a moment by the mention of Scott, but decided to let it pass. It was another thing he preferred not to think about.

"So," he asked her as he lumbered to his feet, flaring out his white wings and stretching muscles that had fallen asleep, "how about we give these new skills of yours a test drive? Race around the grounds, last one back here has dish duty for a week and has to ask the Professor The Question."

"You're on, Featherbrain – hey, wait! That's cheating!" And she sent herself flying after an already airborne Warren, their laughter drifting up into the cloudless summer sky.


End file.
